taking one step at a time
by symphonies of you
Summary: "She's the sort of girl who tries to see beauty in destruction, porcelain in the callous edges of life. But it's sort of difficult to shine and smile when people don't bother to remember her efforts or the mere fact of her existence" - molly/lysander, round nine for qlfc. One-shot.


**FOR: **the quidditch league forum competition - round nine: _what if one of the Next Generation was born with a mental or physical disability?_ (prompts: birthday, winter winds, _A WISH - _Gregory and the Hawk)

**WORDS: **2,286.

* * *

**.**

_and I guess it doesn't matter what I say or pretend to be_

**.**

She is a Hufflepuff. Molly Weasley, the _Second_, mind you, is a breath of fresh air, someone beautiful and appreciated in the gentle pulse of the moment, then overlooked and forgotten in the next. She's someone that people would consider invisible and camouflaged within the shadows etched into the backdrop. That is, whenever they remember that she exists.

You see, she's the sort of girl who tries her best in everything that she does for the sake of wanting and _needing _to. She needs something to focus on rather than the fact that she has been blind for her entire life and is practically lost in the shadows of her cousins.

She's the sort of girl who tries to see beauty in destruction, porcelain in the callous edges of life.

But it's sort of difficult to shine and smile when people don't bother to remember her efforts or the mere fact of her existence. And it's rather disheartening and embittering at times, times when she forgets to wear a smile and to try her best.

(Can you blame her?)

But it all changes when the most unexpected person acknowledges her existence.

**.**

It starts with a collision of sorts.

It's a day that she forgets to wear a smile and to try her best, and she's making her way along the grooved walls of Hogwarts to the Transfiguration classroom with a sensory charm illuminating her wand, detecting nearby objects and people. And she's nearly there when her wand fails to detect a person that has suddenly moved in front of her, and she accidentally bumps into him.

"Oi, watch where you're going, Hufflepuff!" he snarls.

She winces at the cold irritation edging his voice. "I would, but I can't, seeing as I'm _blind_."

She can't see the mystery guy – probably a Slytherin – in front of her, but she can feel the waves of disbelief and the colours of his incredulity radiating off his body.

"Are you fucking with me?" he demands.

"No, I'm afraid I'm not," she snaps.

There's something familiar about the smell about him…_pine_? And his voice, a voice that she's heard many times around Christmas time at the Burrow…

Oh _no_.

The mystery guy in front of her is Lysander Scamander, the one Scamander twin who never sees her even if she's right beside him.

He's spluttering, which forces an uncharacteristic smirk to take over her lips because Lysander Scamander (one of Hogwarts' resident jerks) has never before been at an utter _loss_ for words.

"Now if you don't mind, I have somewhere I need to be. Nice talking to you, Scamander," she hisses, revelling in the deepening shock that he exudes in response to her acknowledgment of his name.

She may be blind, but she's quick at connecting the dots between solved and unsolved puzzles.

**.**

She's waiting for Professor Flitwick to begin class when she hears the screech of the chair next to hers accompanied by the faint (familiar) whiff of pine and the clattering of _his _belongings beneath the table.

Why, oh, _why _is he sitting next to her?

She always sits alone in the back of the classroom to avoid making a friend who will forget about her within minutes of leaving class for lunch. And also, she'd rather not be distracted in her best class, and that is the very definition of Lysander Scamander: a baffling distraction.

He speaks first. "Hey Puff."

She rolls her eyes. "I _do _have a name, you know. One is not defined by one's House."

"Right, so tell me your name."

She sighs. "Is there a particular reason why you're sitting next to me today?"

Before he can respond, Professor Flitwick strides through the doorway and flicks his wand at the door, shutting it with a loud bang. The din of the students' side conservations die down as he clears his desk with a few swishes and flicks, sending objects flying back to their proper places.

Everyone is still and (for once) quiet as the tiny professor clears his throat before speaking.

"Today, we'll be learning the incantation and technique of an Aguamenti Charm, which is considered an easy charm that a Sixth Year is expected to know. Repeat after me: _Aguamenti_!"

He nodded his head after the class repeated the name of the charm. "You'll be using two swishes with this one. Now pair up with the person you're sitting next to – you'll be working with him or her for the rest of the year!"

Molly held her breath as she took in the idea of having to work with Scamander for the rest of the year. He couldn't be _that _bad, right? After all, everyone has their good qualities, even if they're insolent Slytherins.

She doesn't speak for a solid two minutes, and he takes the chance to speak first.

"Look, I don't apologise often but…sorry for being an ass last week," he mutters.

Is he legitimately apologising for last week's episode? She's momentarily shocked, and she's quite sure that she currently looks like a large-mouthed bass with her mouth exceedingly agape.

She bites her lip in hesitation before responding with a cheeky smile. "Come again?"

"Shut it, Puff. So _now _can you tell me your name?" he grumbles.

"Possibly in the near future."

He glares at her before remembering that she can't exactly see his glare. "I think we got off on the wrong foot, so we should start over. Hi, I'm Lysander Scamander."

"Molly Weasley."

"Shit, are you serious?" he gawks.

She raises an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Is there a problem?"

"I've been to every Weasley gathering since I was born, and I've never seen you before!"

"Don't blame yourself. No one ever does," she mutters, her shoulders drooping as she pushes aside the flighty bitterness that always surfaces at the most inopportune time.

"Bullshit."

"What?" she asks, startled by the sudden brusqueness of his voice.

"That's the shittiest excuse, Puff. I…damn, I really am a shitty person, aren't I? Just because you're blind doesn't mean that you have to be invisible, too," he rants.

She protests against the accusations he's inflicting upon himself. "You're fine. Really, you are. And also, I think I should apologise, too. I was excessively foul and rude that day."

She can see him raising an eyebrow at her statement.

"If anyone was rude that day, it was me. As usual."

Molly can't help the soft smile that spreads across her face. "You know, I think you're not completely the ass that you make yourself out to be."

And she can't see it, but a hesitant smile sidles onto his lips as well.

**.**

Over the next few weeks, they spend time together, inside and outside of class.

He walks her to class and to lunch and dinner. He helps her with Potions and Ancient Runes, while she helps him with Charms and Arithmancy. From him, she learns how to get to the Kitchens, how to waltz, and how to skip stones and listen for the smile-inducing plops that a stone makes with each skip.

At first, she assumes the reason that he was hanging out with her between classes and on the weekend is because he, as a Slytherin, hates being indebted to someone and wants to make up for his (in his own sense) _blindness_ to her existence. And because she's a forgiving person, she keeps telling him that he doesn't need to make up for anything, that he doesn't need to hang out with a lowly Hufflepuff.

But he had insists that he wants to make up for lost time, that it is a terribly tragedy that he hadn't gotten to know her all these years.

Not because she's a Weasley and pitifully blind, but because she's just Molly.

**.**

"Say, have you ever ridden a broom before?"

It so happens that they have their free period on Monday at the same time, and she had grabbed the sleeve of his school robes fifteen minutes earlier to drag him outside into the chilly but pleasant air.

She shakes her head with a wistfulness about her movements. "My parents would never let me. All of my cousins say that it's like flying. I mean, well, you technically _are _flying, but I think they mean that it's like you're _flying_ and that it's the most incredible feeling in the world."

He nods his head, grinning at the thought of flying. "Yeah, it's true. I feel pretty much invincible when I'm up in the air, like I can do anything and get away with it because I'm at the top of the fucking _world_."

"I wish I could fly. Just once," she whispers.

"Well, then let's go to the Quidditch Pitch!" he exclaims with such a childlike enthusiasm that is almost (possibly) endearing.

"Wait, what? No, I can't!"

He frowns. "Why not, Puff?"

"I…Teddy and Fred get injured all the time. And Father has always told me that flying isn't safe, and I can't with my…condition."

"Your condition won't bloody matter if I fly with you on the same broom, Puff. Now, come on – free period's almost over!" he counters gaily, taking her by the hand and towing her at a frenzied pace.

When they reach the pitch, he heads straight for the broom shed, unlocking it and handing her one of the school brooms. He teaches her how to mount the broom, guiding her with his steady, calloused hands. She waits for him to mount the broom as well, and she squeaks in embarrassment when he seats himself behind her and gently places his left hand on her abdomen after securing his grip on the handle.

(His breath is tickling her neck, and it overwhelms her with a fluttery, discordant confusion lacking in sanity.)

And it feels like flying when he kicks off the ground. She can't help but whoop and laugh and smile until her cheeks ache because, for the first time, she feels _free_. For the first time, her blindness is powerless in restricting her from experiencing the most splendid feelings in the world.

In the heart of the moment, her blindness isn't an obstructive factor, and she feels as if she can change the world with a simple wave of her hand, as if she can see _colours_.

As the wind playfully laces its fingers through her hair, she tilts her face upward, relishing in the never-ending caress of the autumn air and carving this moment into the splattered canvas of eternity.

She wants to remember what it's like to fly forever.

**.**

"Lucy says that ice-skating is far more brilliant that flying is."

He scoffs. "Right. She's barking mad if she thinks that."

"But ice-skating _does _seem rather nice, and I think I should like to learn someday," she protests, frowning when he calls her sister mad.

"Merlin, you're such a _girl_, Puff," he groans.

"Well, I'm glad that you've noticed that," she huffs.

He looks away with a slight flush rising in his cheeks.

"Actually, I noticed that a while ago," he murmurs under his breath.

**.**

She loves the way he grabs her hand and brings her to a part of Hogwarts that she has never been to before. She loves the way he makes her feel secure and astoundingly safe with the steadiness and comfort of his warm, calloused hands. She loves the way he hugs her, the way he guides her along the corridors so that she doesn't need her wand anymore, the way he hasn't forgotten her existence.

She cares so much for him that it scares her. And all of these exhilarating feelings make her wonder for the first time what she looks like, whether she's pretty or ugly or average.

(Whether _he _thinks she's pretty.)

**. **

Her birthday is December 17th.

"I have a surprise for you," he tells her, slowly taking her by the hand and leading her outside into the snow and the familiar embrace of the winter winds by the Black Lake.

He summons something under his breath, and her curiosity piques when he asks her to sit down and begins to take her boots off. When he gently slips her feet into an unfamiliar pair of…_somethings_, she opens her mouth to ask him what's going on, but he tells her to be patient in the aggravatingly condescending voice that he adopts whenever he teases her about beating her on an Arithmancy exam.

She scowls when he tells her to get up. "Now what, Scamander?"

"Aw, don't be like that. You told me that you wanted to learn how to ice-skate, so I'm teaching you on your birthday," he explains amusedly.

"Oh."

He teaches her how to form a V-shaped formation with her feet, and slowly, she learns how to ice-skate while holding his hand. And it's absolutely magical and breath-taking; she never thought that ice-skating could be so beautiful in such a fragile albeit elegant way.

They stop for a few minutes in the centre of the lake, and he stares at her for so long that she looks away and begins to blush uncontrollably.

"You're sort of beautiful, Puff."

Her head snaps back up. Did he just call her beautiful?

"I've never done this before, so I hope that you don't brutally murder me or anything," he begins nervously.

She's frozen in place as he slowly tilts her chin upward and kisses her softly and hesitantly.

She has lived for sixteen years in the Wizarding World, and this is the most magical birthday that she has ever had.

**.**

_and I guess it doesn't matter what I say or what I seem_

**.**

* * *

A/N: Please don't favourite without reviewing! =)

-nic.


End file.
